We’re all living within Dr. Fauci’s houseparty, baby! I got to say, fucking kudos to the absolute force of a man. Being able to persuade the Rotten Orange into issuing decrees (albiet tardily) that he clearly didn’t want to is impressive. Will he win the push for a federal lockdown? Who knows! But, dude has clearly persuaded most states into chilling at home. If I’m even half as cogent as dude is at the age of 79, I’ll consider if a flat-out, nipple-stiffening victory. As an aside, man, can you really contemplate what your nipples and genitals are going will like at that age? Fauci, though? I bet dude has huge balls, though. Cannonballs.
Hey, friends! Welcome to another edition of Monday Morning Commute, within the current pandemically painful climate! I must confess, these posts are a bit difficult to write as of late. Not that I don’t want to hang with you all — in fact, I think that may be the primary reason I churn them out at all. Rather, it’s just deeply, deeply difficult for me to concentrate on anything days. One minute I’ll be cruising along the highway of Vibe City, and the next I’m contemplating society, the health of my friends, and the health of my wife’s employment and my own. But, what the fuck can you do? Cave? No way! Instead, we must make like Rambo.
That’s right. Strip off our shirts, oil up our bodies, and launch explosive-tipped arrows at our malaise. Let our hair be as beautiful as him, and let our aim be as true.
I’ll go first! Join me in the comments.
By god! It’s the Weekend! But, what the fuck is the weekend during The Plague? A valid question, honestly. Maybe a lazy question, too. ‘Cause despite working from home, I’ve been goddamn busy. So this weekend is going to be a nice respite from the hectic work schedule.
Get in a little gaming.
Smoke a little weed.
Hang with you fuckers on the stream.
We’re at Doom’s Gate, motherfuckers! But, we’re in it together. I know it seems like small potatoes, but this week has at least felt like a communal panic. It sounds absurd, but it’s nice to feel closer to the communities I’m belong to, and my friends. If we’re on the Titanic, at least we’re all waltzing together, no?
So, let’s waltz here! At the Weekend Open Bar! It’s usually the weekly siesta where we gather, and share what we’re up to during a specific Weekend. And, that’s still the point of this son of a bitch! But, let’s also just hang out, stare at the sky together, and metaphorically scream.
Let’s spend time, friends!
It ain’t depression, friends! It’s COVID-19! And baby is it ever striking! I’m on Spring Break, but Spring Break during the apocalypse doesn’t really pop. You know? Everything is closed. Nothing to do. Except sit around, worry about my job, eat too much, and refresh /r/coronavirus. Not good! Not good at all.
As someone who needs the gym not just for his body, but for his mind, this is a bit of a tough stretch. As someone who needs social interaction and routine just to slathered together a dinted, but functioning psyche, this is a bit of a tough stretch.
Which is why I need you more than ever, my friends! To help me bask in the frivolity and distractions that we need to pad our lives with. Perhaps not solely bask in, but times like this prove more than ever, we need as humans.
Here’s what’s on my motherfucking mind this week, friends. The arts I’m embracing, the fears that are chasing, and other miscellany bullshit. I hope you’ll join me in the comments. ‘Cause, like, what the fuck else are you doing?
This is the Coronavirus Non-Commute, the really weird temporary off-shoot of Monday Morning Commute.
What’s up, travelers aboard the Space-Ship OMEGA? It’s finally, finally the Weekend Open Bar.
Boy. Weird week, no? COVID-19 has finally struck America’s consciousness, and such a strike has felled any sort of normalcy. Ain’t no sports! Ain’t no toilet paper! Movie premieres being delayed. Schools being closed. What the fuck! What the fuck does this all mean?
Honestly, I don’t know!
Golly gee come down to the Space-Ship OMEGA! We’re having an Eschaton of fun here within the walls of the faithful tin can in digital orbit! But, friends, I must confess something. I think there’s a general paucity in the zeitgeist when it comes to really comprehending the situation on this globe, which is currently somewhere between a shit-covered molotov to the face of Western culture, and a dumpster filled with spiked light bulbs dropped on our cumulative balls.
Self-immolation is a hell of a drug, friends! Ask the DNC, as they continue to tear the walls down on themselves to prevent the Bern. Shit, ask me! On those dark nights where it feels like 8,000 calories of M&Ms makes way more sense than trying to fight my way out of my malaise! But, it’s fucking futile! We’re going to get another Trump presidency, and I could end up in a waistband three-sizes bigger than currently constituted. But if I’m being honest? The former seems way more plausible than the later, as I sip my deeply unfulfilling weekday smoothie that serves as both breakfast and lunch.
None the less, what’s the key to staving off self-immolation?
What are the secret ingredients of the Anti-Apocalypse serum?
I’m happy to tell you!
And a good goddamn Weekend to you all, you fuckers! How are you doing? Attempting to keep the Pushing Through A Malaise and Interacting With Others space-ship going! As well, it’s pretty easy keep reaching out and high-fiving motherfuckers when it’s the weekend. I mean, right?
Speaking of which, grab a chair! Pull up a bean bag! Sit down directly on your balls and scream mercilessly!
I don’t care what you do. So long as you hang out with me this weekend! After all, that’s the point of the motherfucking Open Bar!
Man, I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been here! Spinning off a Monday Morning Commute! But, I’m going to level with you. Just been mired in a February Funk. Fucking ashen skies, long-ass work days. Been feeling the funk. The February Funk! However, don’t think that means I don’t miss ya’ll! I do, I truly do!
Especially since Bateman and I have not been able to stream due to scheduling conflicts. Streaming on Saturday nights is the perfect way to spend a Saturday night (in my opinion), but it also puts directly in the Existential Line of Fire. That said, we’re back this week, though! And I hope you’ll join us.
Until then! Let me tell you what I’ve been enjoying and anticipating as of late, in-between foggy-headed malaises and eating too much.